


Gossamer

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angels, Bad Decisions, Decisions, Difficult Decisions, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s06e21 Let It Bleed, F/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, One of My Favorites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the last decision Dean will ever make for Lisa Braeden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gossamer

”There's one more thing you could do for me.” You look at Castiel, keeping your features blank as you can dare and waiting, just waiting, waiting for the refusal that should be coming like a freight train, and a tiny voice at the back of your mind will scream for this not to happen, for it not to be the time that it is.

But it is. And you’ve put thought into this, you have, and drank down gallons of whiskey over the span of the last year as you’ve dreaded this, this that was coming from the moment you walked back in through the door to her house, _her house_ , with her child inside of it, a boy who adores you. 

And you know the pain you have caused, you know the promises you have failed to keep and you silence the voice at the back of your mind and you choose this.

You don’t look at her as you say the words, you won’t ever look at her again. She isn’t yours, has never been (you choose for her to never be). She won’t wake until you and Castiel are good and done, firmly on your own sides of a line in the sand. This is the end, the very last thing that you will decide about Lisa Braeden.

You have chosen your ending, with Castiel, with Lisa, with Ben, with everything, and you know these things can only go one way.

This is the end, the end of so many things.

”I will do this. But only if you trust me.” Your gut wrenches at those words falling from Castiel’s lips, after everything, after betrayal that chokes you thick in your throat and you can’t, you won’t (but you will, you do, you have to, for this). You don’t say it at first. You don’t cave that easily (but it’s not how easily that will matter but only the final, terrible cave-in when you do. When you do.) 

”Trust you? Now?” you say first, and you laugh, harsh and rotted-sounding in the empty air, but you want this, you need this, and you know what’s coming before he says it, like you could have planned it yourself. 

”There is only one way for this to be done. It is the only way it will ever be truly finished. You must come with me.”

And you know, you know you are about to get what you asked for and it’s just around the corner now, something like release, at least for them. No losing sleep over you. No fear. No loss. No history.

 

And you go with him. He puts one hand to your forehead and you _go_ , like so many times before, other times when you have trusted him to get you where you need to go, end-of-the-world, end-of-your-parents’-lives, one and the same, you remember trust and fear and confusion and triumph and so many things in between, all rapid-fire through your synapses, and if Castiel has said something needs to be done to achieve these ends he has never lied to you, he never has, and you remember that. Just long enough to hear yourself say yes, you are ready for this, and Castiel smiles, and that-- He actually smiles and touches your face like a thousand times and you feel a moment of perfect acceptance like so many times before because he has gripped you tight and known the inner reaches of your very soul and it is inescapable, it is impossible.

He has never betrayed you before (but he has, he has, you struggle to remember it, you seek the knowledge of it but it slips from your grasp like fish darting between the fingers of your open hand as it dangles in a stream).

You find yourself elsewhere, more quickly than the blink of an eye and everything is light, gold fading to purple and back again, all color surrounding you and you feel--you feel weightless. You strain to see (better, more, anything), and you are rewarded by the appearance of a humanoid shape, spectral or astral or something, you think wildly, because it is only color and form but no substance. You don’t move toward it and it doesn’t move toward you. You simply--know. Surprise. You feel its surprise and it feels yours and then it offers you one word, _Choose_ , and you supply _wisely_ and you are giddy with something, you can’t calm down, you can’t stop, you don’t stop, but you don’t have to stop because you only have to choose. 

Everything is too bright and it hurts too much and it doesn’t hurt enough and you don’t know where you are, your compass is broken, and there are no answers to any of your questions because the thing is gone, it’s gone, and you may (must) do only one thing. You have to choose.

Memory curls through you, hits you like a punch in the gut, makes you dizzy and confused and elated and destroyed all at once. You are making breakfast for Ben, eggs _and_ pancakes because you can, because Ben looks at you like that and you just do. And you think of puppy dog eyes and you try not to die inside but this is all right, you can do this, you’ve always been the best cook between you and Sam and Bobby and then you know what you have to do and just in time you hear it again. _Choose_. And you do because the pain is exquisite and you make your choice in an instant. You feel it being cut away but you don’t know from where or when or to whom or from whom or whatever, you don’t know, you just cut it out. The whole world goes dark and you know that it’s gone and you feel relief down into your very core because you chose. You chose.

You dream of him every night and you wake up with your cheeks burned by salt and your eyes aching and you know they heard this, they have seen this happen to you and it is the weakest you have ever been and it is better if they never--if they never. You choose again and the memory falls away.

Your hands shake on the whiskey bottle, really shake, tremors that mean only one thing, only one, an ism that Sam didn’t have to go to college to learn all about and neither did you and you take a pull from the bottle and you just need another and it’s okay, it’s okay, then the shaking stops and you can go on with your day, just like any day, it’s fine. You think of beers on the side of the road, you think of open fields and guns and bottles that pop, pop, pop to shards of glass in the dirt and it’s okay, it’s okay, until Ben is in the kitchen and he says, _It’s eight in the morning_ , and _Mom wanted you to drive me to school_ with that teenager scoff that means he’s trying to be as annoyed as he sounds but he will remember this, forever, like you will remember Christmas in Broken Bow and hate Nebraska until you die (again, this time, next time, whatever). And pain lances through you soul deep because you know he will never forget, except you choose.

You remember cages filled with children, you remember Ben locked away, you remember how he got them through the window and out, out, how he was brave and gentle and did more than any kid should ever be asked to do and you remember the drive to Lisa’s, how you felt sick to your stomach because these were childhoods ruined just like yours and this one--this one--it will give him nightmares forever, it will never end for him now but his fear keeps him safe and this one--this time--do you choose?

The world goes blank again, all the colors leeched away and you decide that you did, that it’s better this way even if you didn’t, but you had to, that is what you came here to do.

The next one is easier, it’s only that one idyllic weekend, that one time that you were happy, and things were simple. It’s only the first time you noticed her smile and you told yourself it didn’t matter much, she was Gumby Girl and not Lisa Braeden and it’s only a little happiness anyway, you’ve been happier and you won’t lose that just because you choose.

This is only one choice, only a small list of things, and how does that fucking song go, a few small repairs, that’s all this is and you need it, you do, because you need not to be afraid for them anymore, you need to know that they don’t care, won’t lose sleep, aren’t thinking of you because that would undo you, it would destroy you, and so you choose.

You choose basketball games on the court by the school and you choose pillow forts in the living room and you choose showing Ben The Exorcist which you watched at eight and it became your favorite, your absolute favorite because pea soup is gloriously disgusting. You choose science projects and the Wendigo costume. You trim and you cut and you rip away and it’s fine because you choose.

And you sit in the darkness, in the absolute absence of light and you think: I am not seeing more, I am not, and this is what I choose. Quiet at last. Darkness at last. Peace at last. Then you remember, something else quick and bright and sharp that hurts: betrayal, and Castiel, and the loves of your life being hunted, soured, ruined and all by you and you think maybe you will just stop now. Just rest here in the darkness that you made and that’s when you realize you don’t know how you will get out of here. You don’t know where to go, and the phrase _don’t know which way is up_ bears new meaning and you don’t--you just don’t. You have chosen and where you are is only darkness and it’s fine, it’s fine.

And then you hear a name (you know it for a name), shouted, screamed at top volume and you know the voice and you are so tired and all you want to do is stay here in this place you have made with all your hard work because it doesn’t hurt and it won’t hurt ever again and you are so relieved, so relieved.

Except for the scream, that isn’t your scream and you only know it isn’t because you don’t feel it in your throat, but who would scream for you? Who would scream for _you_? Who remembers you now?

And you’re shaking but only because something is reaching for you, jostling you with an outside force, creating movement and sound in the place where you have chosen (didn’t you?) to stop, to be done. (You are never done, ever, no matter how many times you choose it, and you don’t understand but this is always the way. You do not choose. Not that.) And you know that you are tired and sore and there are cuts all over your body because you chose. And if it bleeds, let it bleed, you deserve that much, you deserve nothing at all, you don’t even deserve the end. And the scream runs all through you, it is undoing you, unraveling you, and you don’t know if you should care and you find that you--you can’t, it isn’t inside of you anymore, you cut it out, you cut out everything and you want to be alone (don’t you?) where it should be dark and quiet, finally, but you aren’t, and you don’t know what to feel about that so you feel nothing and nothing and nothing forever.

You look around, look for the source of the scream, and you see hazel eyes and you wonder what hazel means but it’s something you know. And you can hear crying but you can’t tell anything except they aren’t your tears, your cheeks aren’t...wet. But how could they be wet here where you have chosen to stop? And then a name, a word that you know, something someone was called by once-- _Dean_ \--and there are arms around you and you are not alone (did you want to be alone? What did you want? Why are you here? Maybe just to rest.) But somewhere, someone is crying and it isn’t you (you wouldn’t cry, you are past crying, done with it).

You are nestled against a form, bright and thin and shimmering and holding you in its light, covering you. You want to look into its eyes, the eyes that you know somehow, but you can’t find them with your own, you don’t know where to look anymore and you wish for the darkness again because it is easier, simpler, and after all this that you chose it is what you know.

The figure shakes, the whole space shakes around you but this creature does not let you go. It only holds tighter, sinks deeper and deeper into you, holds more and more of you in its hands. You let it. This is something that is familiar, like hazel eyes and what might be your name. But you do not move, you let this creature do the moving, and the crying, and the screaming. _Dean_ it says, over and over, _Dean_. And you wish it would say something else but you don’t know what, except you wish.

And then it comes, harsh and broken, confused and defeated, desperate.

_Dean. It’s Sam._

And this. This one thing, you remember.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are wondering why I have listed bad decisions as a tag for this fic, or how I wrote this, I have been through a bout of amnesia believe it or not, and I am still processing it, this is not anything I would wish on anyone and as of mid 2k17 even as a person who heavily identifies with Dean I am unsure if this is a thing I have forgiven yet. I have been on both sides and it was all happening at the time this episode aired.


End file.
